


sweet, talented

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hot Chocolate, Ice Skating, M/M, Minor Injuries, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22325716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You don’t have a sweet tooth, and you’re a very talented skater. These are two truths.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 104





	sweet, talented

Aziraphale comes back from his seventh lap around the rink, coming to a gentle stop next to the wall that Crowley is clinging to. “Sweetheart—”

”I’m _fine_ ,” Crowley growls. “I _told_ you, I know how to ice skate.”

”I don’t doubt you, my sweet,” Aziraphale says with an amused smile, unable to ignore how Crowley’s knees are trembling. “But the fact is, you have been hugging the wall since we got on the ice.”

” _It’sss_ _cold_ ,” Crowley hisses bitterly.

”Yes, I know!” Aziraphale says, raising his eyebrows. “That’s why I told you to bundle up. It’s not my fault you thought you’d be fine in just your coat.”

Crowley grumbles, shuffling his feet slightly. “I’m _fine_.” he says again.

”Alright,” Aziraphale says, gliding past him. “I do hope you’re having fun, at least?”

”Loads,” Crowley mutters, watching him skate off. 

When he comes back around, he stops next to him again, much to Crowley’s chagrin. “I _told_ _you_ , I’m _fine—”_

”I _know_ , sweetheart,” Aziraphale says, holding his arm out. “But this is supposed to be a date.”

Even though he has his sunglasses on, Aziraphale can tell he’s glaring at him. Nevertheless, Crowley grabs onto Aziraphale’s arm with both hands and clings, allowing him to drag him away from the wall.

”Aziraphale—” he says, leaning on him. “Aziraphale— _Aziraphale_! Go slower!”

”Oh, my sweet, please,” Aziraphale teases. “Surely an experienced skater such as yourself won’t mind a little speed. You do so love to drive fast, why not skate the same way?”

”They’re very different!” Crowley cries, being dragged along. 

Aziraphale turns sharply so he can face Crowley, continuing to glide along backwards. He takes Crowley’s hands and pulls him along. He wobbles on the ice, unbalanced. 

” _Aziraphale_!” Crowley insists. “Go _slower_!”

”I quite enjoy this pace, my sweet,” Aziraphale says. “But if you’d like to go slower—”

” _No_!” Crowley practically shouts, grabbing onto his wrists when he tries to let go of his hands. “Don’t let go!”

Aziraphale gives him a knowing look. “Could that be your inexperience talking, or do you just like holding my hand?”

”You’re a _bassstard_ ,” Crowley growls.

Aziraphale yanks him forward, dragging him into his arms. “And you’re a little liar.”

”Ngk,” Crowley says, blushing. “Let me go.”

”As you wish,” Aziraphale says smugly, opening his arms up and letting Crowley go. 

Crowley makes a noise akin to a squawk, not that he’ll ever admit to it. He wobbles, his legs shaking violently, throwing his arms out to try to keep himself balanced. It doesn’t work; he falls flat on his ass.

Aziraphale stifles his laugh, skating back over. “Are you alright, my darling?”

”Fuck off,” Crowley snaps. He clenches his hands, trying to soothe the scrapes there. 

”I’m terribly sorry, my sweet,” Aziraphale says, holding his hand out. “Let me help you up.”

”I’m done skating,” Crowley says, trying and failing to pick himself up off the ice.

”Here,” Aziraphale says, taking his arm and hauling him up.

Crowley grabs onto his arm, holding on for dear life. “Get me off the ice. _Now_.”

”I’ll do you one better,” Aziraphale says. He snaps his finger, and Crowley finds them seated on the couch in their living room, practically in Aziraphale’s lap. 

”Is that better, darling?” Aziraphale asks.

”Ngk,” Crowley says, refusing to look at him.

”Oh, don't be like that,” Aziraphale says. “I’m sorry I let you fall.”

Crowley doesn’t say anything. He holds his hand out to Aziraphale, palm up. “You’ll have to apologize for this, too.”

Crowleys palms are scraped up from falling on the ice. Aziraphale hums affectionately, taking both his hands. “I’m sorry, darling,” he says, kissing his palms and healing the scrapes with a miracle. “But I _did_ tell you to wear gloves.”

”Oh, hush,” Crowley says, blushing. 

Aziraphale pulls him closer, pressing little kisses to the side of his face. “Would you like some hot cocoa, my sweet? I’ll make it extra chocolatey for you, sate your sweet tooth.”

”I don’t have a sweet tooth,” Crowley lies.

”Of course you don’t,” Aziraphale says. “You don’t have a sweet tooth, and you’re a very talented skater. These are two truths.”

”Fuck off!” Crowley exclaims, laughing as he shoved him off the couch.


End file.
